


Your Apartment and Mine

by crystalkei



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 00:27:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5647264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalkei/pseuds/crystalkei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Bellamy are getting divorced. But their next door neighbor dies unexpectedly and leaves her apartment to them. Instead of not seeing each other again, they now have to be neighbors and maybe it reminds them that they were better together than apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Apartment and Mine

_ July 15th _

 

She bumped into him in the hallway and glared. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I’d ask you the same thing but I imagine you’re here because of Mrs. Linder, same as me,” Bellamy said like he owned the place.

Fucking know-it-all. 

He’d gotten a haircut since she’d seen him last month and that was really upsetting to her vision of life after Bellamy. Mostly because he looked really hot. She hated that he looked really hot. 

Thank God she’d taken the time to put on makeup this morning after her shift or she’d be looking haggard after 10 days straight at the hospital. Clarke was going to send a complimentary tweet out to Urban Decay for keeping her looking fresh when she didn’t expect to run into her ex husband. Or soon to be ex husband. 

“Mrs. Linder’s daughter died a few years ago, did you two know?” the lawyer in an expensive suit asked when they were both sitting down. 

“I think she mentioned it once,” Clarke said, she looked at Bellamy and he nodded in response.

“Her husband died in the war, right?” Bellamy asked. 

“Yes, she has no living relatives. Her things have all been donated to various charities. Her apartment though, she bequeathed to the two of you.” 

“What?” both Bellamy and Clarke asked in shock.

A couple of things went through Clarke’s mind: real estate in the city was hot and Mrs. Linder didn’t know about Clarke and Bellamy’s pending divorce. Or Clarke thought she didn’t. But this situation already had blockbuster comedy written all over it. It was going to be disastrous. 

  
  


\--

 

“We’re not selling it. This apartment is one block from work, you wanted me to move out, tada, I’ve got a place to move out to,” Bellamy said while they walked the apartment with a paralegal the estate lawyer sent with them. 

“I told you to move out because I couldn’t look you in the face anymore, that means I don’t want to see you in the building either,” Clarke shot back. “Besides, this apartment could easily pay off your student loans and mine. It’s beneficial for both of us instead of just you.” 

“We’re not selling it.” Bellamy opened the door to the master bedroom. “Jesus, her closet is bigger than ours!” 

“It’s not  _ ours _ anymore.” Clarke tried her best not to stomp her foot, she wouldn’t give him the ammunition. 

“You haven’t signed the divorce papers so it is still ‘ours’ but whatever you say, babe.” Bellamy winked at her. 

“Fine, you live here until you can find a place that isn’t Miller and Monty’s couch,” Clarke caved. “Then we sell it.”

“We’re not selling it,” Bellamy added enjoying the dirty look Clarke gave him. 

“There’s not any kind of stipulation about us getting this apartment like we have to stay married for it, right?” Clarke asked the paralegal. 

“That sounds like a Hallmark movie,” the paralegal commented. 

“So that’s a no?” Clarke asked for clarification.

“Definitely no stipulations like that.” 

“Thank God,” Clarke said relieved. 

 

\--

_ July 20th _

 

It was the hottest day on record, but Bellamy wouldn’t have known. He kept the AC going full blast because he was baking lasagna. Octavia was coming over later and he hoped to shut up all her talk about his failed marriage by stuffing her face with her favorite food. 

A knock at the door revealed Clarke, sweaty, frazzled, generally sexy, as she was typically. He didn’t have a problem admitting she looked great. His problems came from remembering the shouting match that ended in “we should get a divorce.”

“The AC is broken in our apartment,” she explained when he opened the door. 

“You mean  _ your _ apartment,” he reminded her as he leaned on the door frame blocking the entrance. 

“Shut up and let me in.” 

She pushed past him heading for the vent in the living room and stood underneath it. He followed and stopped directly in front of her. 

“Going somewhere fancy?” he asked as he boldly slipped a finger under the thin strap of her short cotton dress, the navy one with the pale pink pattern that looked like polka dots but were actually tiny roses. 

She had worn it to his boss’ barbeque in May and he’d gotten pissed because she flirted a little too freely with his coworker Gerald. On their way home he’d pushed her against the subway wall and got her off with his fingers before the train came.  It’s with that memory on his mind that he slid his finger down her collarbone quickly and then absently brought the finger to his mouth and tasted the salt from her skin. It was casual as he could make it but he watched Clarke’s breath catch, her irritation forgotten. She licked her lips.

“I have a date,” she said, snapping out of the moment and taking a step back to put space in between them. 

“With whom?” He hoped it came off nonchalant but she tilted her head, eyes twinkling, and he knew he’d failed.

“None of your goddamn business,” Clarke answered. 

“I love that person,” Bellamy snarked. “We're pals.” 

Clarke narrowed her eyes at him and he couldn’t help but grin smugly in response. 

“Does your date have anything to do with the friend I entertained last night?” 

Her face scrunched up, she shook her head, she barked out a laugh uncomfortably. He had her. 

“I didn't know you had company last night,” Clarke said followed by a scoff to illustrate how ridiculous the suggestion was even though she was definitely lying. 

“So how come when I walked her out I heard you lean against your door and close the peep hole?” 

“I thought you were the UPS man,” Clarke supplied quickly. “I've been waiting for an Amazon package….we should unlink our Amazon accounts by the way. Because divorced.” 

“You haven't signed the papers yet,” Bellamy reminded.

“I'll go over there tomorrow,” she said. “Just please let the AC guy in when he comes so  _ my _ apartment doesn't cook me.”

It was another lie. She wasn't going over there to sign the papers. They couldn't even get the divorce finalized until they'd been separated six months but the official separation couldn't start until she signed those papers and she kept coming up with excuses not to. It wasn’t upsetting Bellamy much though because deep down, he hoped she’d chicken out and tell him it was all a big mistake and she’d beg him to come home.

She headed for the front door. 

“Have fun on your date. I guess you can sleep here tonight if the AC guy doesn't make it,” he said. “Or you can sleep at None Of Your Goddamn Business’ place. Assuming it goes that well.” 

He winked at her and she rolled her eyes. 

“Go to hell,” Clarke said before slamming the door. 

 

\--

 

_ August 1st _

 

“What?” she groaned, opening her door.

“I haven't bought a coffee machine yet.” He held up his empty Green Lantern mug and shook. 

“Good thing there's a Starbucks on the corner,” Clarke replied.

“I'm working from home today. You're on your way out. Let me use the damn machine,” he said already on his way to the red coffee maker on the kitchen counter.

“I’m out of coffee,” Clarke said, putting an earring on.

She didn’t need him distracting her right now, she was late and he was all cutely disheveled and she was gonna go in and sign those divorce papers just as soon as she finished her shift at the hospital today. 

Probably.

If she had time.

“I hid some behind that gluten free pasta in the pantry.” Bellamy opened the cupboard and shuffled some things around.

“Why?”

“The more important question is why did you buy gluten free pasta?” he asked, pulling out the bag of coffee. 

“It was an accident,” she explained. “I was in a hurry.” 

“We should donate it to the food bank.” He busied himself with making a pot of coffee and Clarke spun around the living room looking for her other shoe. “You look nice.”

“The chief of surgery is visiting today,” she said, finally spying the nude heel under the side table.

“You dressed up for your mom?”

“I dressed up so I can look put together, calm, great. This is my  _ I'm fucking amazing because even though my mom said to me three years ago that I shouldn't marry the cute librarian because it would never work, suggesting we were too different and we were making a big mistake and I didn’t listen to her and today is the first time I'm seeing her since I called her last month to announce we were getting divorced _ ! look.” Clarke was out of breath after the explanation.

“In that case,” Bellamy said, looking her up and down. “You look like your shit is together. And you look hot.” 

“Thank you,” she said, pretending it didn’t matter that he thought she looked good, she knew he didn’t buy it though. 

He handed her the baby blue travel mug he got her for Christmas two years ago (that said Dr. Griffin-Blake) now filled with coffee. She took it. Grabbed her purse, her hospital lanyard, and without thinking leaned over and kissed his cheek. 

“Have a good day,” he said as she left the apartment with a wry smile. 

She was hitting the button on the elevator before she realized what she'd done.

“Shit!”

\--

 

_ August 4th _

 

Bellamy didn’t realized he’d fallen asleep in his recliner until his head had done that bobbing thing where his chin encountered his chest and he startled himself awake. He shivered and blinked a couple of times to try and wake up and that’s when he saw it. 

_ I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s a leech crawling across the floor. _

Clarke didn’t respond immediately to the text, but he saw the bubble pop up that meant she was typing, then it disappeared. Then it came back. Then it disappeared again. As soon as he went to type out another text, the door opened and Clarke came in wearing his old university t-shirt and panties. Her hair was in a messy bun on her head and she came bearing a broom. She walked right past his recliner, leaned over at the waist, (he would have stared at her perfect ass covered in those bright pink panties if he wasn’t so terrified,) and then turned back to him. 

“I fucking knew it,” she growled. “It’s the middle of the night and you are reading about the Bubonic Plague again, aren’t you?”

“No,” Bellamy lied, trying to shove the book resting on his lap into the side of chair. 

Clarke spun the broom and slammed the wooden end down on the ground next to the bug. He jumped at the sound.

“This is a slug, Bellamy.”

“It’s a leech,” he argued, sitting up in his chair pointing but not getting any closer to the bug. 

He definitely was not putting his feet on the ground. She wasn’t even wearing shoes! Fucking badass.

“Reading about the Plague gives you nightmares and makes you see leeches where there are just slugs.” 

Clarke took two steps and leaned over the kitchen island to grab the salt and a paper towel. She doused the tiny villain in salt and then scooped it up with the paper towel. Clarke psyched him out by pretending she was going to throw the paper towel at him and he jumped again. She laughed cruelly and then deposited the nasty thing in the trash can. 

Bellamy swallowed. “I’m a grown man. I don’t have nightmares about the Plague.”

Clarke looked unimpressed. 

“But if I did,” Bellamy added. “They’d star leeches because leeches are creepy! Everyone knows that! We can’t all be fearless warriors!” 

“Goodnight,” she threw over her broom toting shoulder as she left. 

 

\--

 

_ August 18th _

 

Everyone thought it was going to be a catastrophe. Wells and Raven’s wedding had been eight months in the making and when Clarke called them to tell them the news that she’d contacted a lawyer about filing divorce papers Raven actually threatened her life. 

“I know you’re gonna think I’m joking, but my wedding is two months away, you are Wells’ best woman and Bellamy is a groomsman and I will fucking end you two if you ruin my wedding. I will go full on bridezilla, I swear to any god listening, Clarke. I mean it.” 

“She means it,” Wells chimed in. “I can actually see her plotting your demise. But...you guys can still play nice for the wedding right? We can arrange the tables so you don’t sit together.” 

“We can be civil. I think,” Clarke said at the time. “Don’t worry about the seating arrangements. We’ll be fine. We’re adults.” 

It was even more true now. The month they’d spent separated had been enough time for her to get over her anger at Bellamy. Then the last month that they’d been neighbors because he still hadn’t found a new place had been comfortable. She even got a little thrill when she ran into him in the elevator. 

So the evening had been fine, uneventful from their side of things. It was a beautiful ceremony. They’d done their duties as members of the wedding party. No fights had broken out and since they were both going to the same place, they shared a cab back to the building. 

Sure, Clarke was a little tipsy, but not so impaired that she didn’t think it was a questionable move that Bellamy put his hand on her thigh in the cab. All night they’d played at casual touches. Their friends were there, everyone was happy and they were trying to pretend like they were too. But actually, Clarke was. She was happy. She’d been relaxed and content all night. At one point, she even forgot that the man sitting next to her picking the tomatoes out of her salad was the same man she cried over when she shouted that she never wanted to see him again. 

In the elevator he’d leaned over her to press the button to their floor and then just never really given back any of the space. When the doors opened his hand was on the small of her back and by the time she got to her door she was so nervous she couldn’t find her keys in her purse.

“I have mine in Mrs. Linder’s apartment,” he said and then they were both in his apartment, or Mrs. Linder’s. 

She hadn’t missed the way he’d called it that. Maybe he was having the same thoughts she was. 

Bellamy went digging through the kitchen island drawer for the key and Clarke tried to ignore the way her stomach dropped thinking that he didn’t have the key on his keyring anymore. She pushed that aside so when he offered her the key she boldly grabbed the lapels of his jacket, pulled him close and kissed him. 

“Are you still on the pill?” he asked in between kisses while she pushed his jacket off his shoulders.

“Yes,” she gasped when his stubble brushed her neck as he moved into trail his lips along her throat. “Did you sleep with that woman three weeks ago?”

“No, she organized her books by color not author,” Bellamy explained taking a minute away from her skin to look her in the eye to pass the information along, like she understood how offensive that woman’s book cataloging system was. She did understand because, well, she'd been married to Bellamy for years. “What about None Of Your Goddamn Business?”

“Who?” Clarke managed to get out as Bellamy lifted her dress over her head and nipped along her collarbone. 

“Your date from three weeks ago?” he reiterated as he dropped to his knees.

“Oh,” she said remembering the event finally. “No. I didn't sleep with her.” 

She felt Bellamy smile against the skin of her stomach as he licked his way down. She kneed him in the chest as a punishment for his smugness. He pulled her panties down her legs unbearably slow. A week ago she would have been embarrassed at the whine that escaped her mouth but they hadn’t had sex in over two months and she was so ready. 

Divorce? Her worst idea ever. 

Bellamy worked her easily into a frenzy with his fingers and mouth. Clarke had to lean against the kitchen island so she didn’t fall over when her orgasm pulsed through her. 

He stood up but instead of the rakish or smug grin she expected, his face was soft, he looked at her in awe and her heart fluttered. She swallowed and looked down, unable to handle the sincerity in his face. Clarke went to work on his belt and he took her cue and started on the buttons of his shirt. When he’d lost his shirt and she’d pushed down his pants and boxers she looked back up again. She put her arms around his neck and hopped so that her ass landed on the edge of the counter. He leaned into kiss her and his fingers went back to her clit. 

Clarke knew what he was doing, trying to go for fancy, pull out all the stops, remind her all she’d missed, but she didn’t care about any of that. 

“I just want you inside of me, it’s been too long,” she said honestly. Again that look of awe from him, so she kept talking to avoid thinking about the look. “That expensive vibrator really doesn't compare and you always used it on me better than I could use it on myself.”

“Should I go over there and get it?” he said, showing off that grin that she expected before, proud and mischievous.

“God no, I need  _ you _ right now,” she said, pulling him closer, boldly positioning his cock at her entrance.

“Demanding.” He kissed her. 

“You like it,” she said. 

“I do. I love it,” Bellamy admitted. “I love you.” 

It was plain as day. He’d said it hundreds of times. But it hit her like a ton of bricks. She’d been so stupid. 

“I love you, too,” Clarke said, happy that her words seemed to quicken his pace. 

 

\--

 

Bellamy woke up by himself. It was disappointing. He thought maybe they’d fixed everything last night. Not with sex. You can’t fix shit with sex. But by actually being honest. By admitting they loved each other enough to maybe keep trying to make their marriage to work. 

But she was gone. 

He considered getting up, but instead just laid there moping for a few minutes. When he checked his phone he had about 18 texts from every one of his friends, even the newlyweds who should have been on a plane by now had sent off one. 

_ Wells said you two were just pretending to be happy for our sake but I’m not that stupid. You’re also not that good at lying so what the fuck happened? Are you two getting back together because we’d all really be happy about it. Saves us all having to take sides.  _

Bellamy dropped his phone on his chest and sighed deeply. 

But then he heard the door opening. He held his breath and was relieved to see Clarke walking into the bedroom, her hair soft curls. She’d grabbed some little strappy nightgown from her apartment and came bearing two cups of coffee. 

“You don’t have a coffee maker remember?” she said. 

His face must have given away his shock and relief. 

“I told Octavia to get you one for your birthday but she hasn’t yet, huh?”

“My birthday isn’t for another two months,” he defended, taking the mug and propping himself up against the wall. (He didn’t have a headboard, he’d barely gotten this bed off craigslist two weeks ago. He’d been sleeping in the recliner up until then.) 

“Yeah, but I said early birthday gift,” Clarke said sitting next to him, curling her feet under her. 

Bellamy took a careful sip of the coffee, he paused and then decided to go for it, “Do I still need my own?”

Clarke looked away, she bit her lip. But she didn’t tense up, she didn’t run out of the place completely. That was a good sign. 

“It wasn't that bad. I shouldn't have called a lawyer,” she admitted, still not looking at him.   
  
Good, honesty was happening and he could do that too. He was dying to do that. 

“I know we fought about your working too much, but that month I didn’t see you, when I was sleeping on Miller and Monty’s couch?” he started. “I missed you so much. Being in the same building has been great but I realize it was a dumb argument. Your career is important and I was being selfish and unrealistic. I know being a resident requires a lot of time.” 

Clarke looked at him now, her eyes sympathetic. 

“And you were right that I need to tell you when I’m upset, not just do something stupid to piss you off and get you to notice that I was mad in the first place,” Clarke said.

“We probably could use some therapy.” 

“Probably,” Clarke said. 

“Maybe if we have a bigger closet, we won’t fight as much,” Bellamy said. 

“We’ll still fight sometimes. But I missed you, I don’t want to miss you again. Plus, I’d rather travel less to kill slugs.”    
  
“And I still like pissing your mom off,” he said and Clarke laughed.

Bellamy took her mug with his free hand and put both on the floor next to the bed. He turned back and cupped her face. He leaned in and kissed her softly, relishing the feel of her lips and the happy sighs she made.

 

\--

 

“We should move into this apartment and sell ours,” she said from her spot against his side, hours later, looking out the big windows of the bedroom. 

“I’ve gotten really attached to the kitchen island,” he said running a hand along her arm. “Plus, all my clothes are here. I’m all about making you do the hard work of moving your stuff.”

“You have to help me move my stuff. Because married,” Clarke said lifting her head to look at him better.

“Fine,” he said. “I’m not even upset about that.” 

“Good.” 

  
  
  



End file.
